


Prognosticate

by gryffindormischief



Series: Fresh Pickled Toad [59]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drunkenness, F/M, Married Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 08:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10613496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffindormischief/pseuds/gryffindormischief
Summary: Sometimes Harry lets loose - a little too loose.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another school week done! Which means one week closer to exams but eh. Yet another tumblr prompt :) Zephyr update in a few days.
> 
> Edit: updated so it doesn't seem like Harry has 'magical abilities' even when inebriated :P

It isn't often that Harry gets drunk – buzzed sure – but _drunk_ is less frequent and usually not intentional. Which is the case this particular Saturday evening. He and Ron close a big case they'd been working on and end up at the Leaky Cauldron, throwing back a few Firewhiskys before either of them have a chance to order something to put on their stomachs.

All of this explains why a pajama-clad Ginny is flooing to the Leaky with an endeared huff rather than preparing to read him the riot act and deprive him of all pain relief methods available.

With a nod to a smirking Hannah as she wipes down glasses behind the bar, Ginny tugs her oversized cloak tighter around her shoulders and prods Harry's shoulder where he's slumped over the table. "Ready to get going, dear?"

He turns to blink at her blearily and slurs, "Gin _ny._ How'd y'get here?"

Ginny grins and rumples his hair, grateful the dynamic duo at least had the foresight to pick a secluded booth, and tugs him up from the seat. "Up you get famous Auror."

Finally catching on to the turn of events, Ron slides out of the booth after Harry, nearly wiping out on the sticky ancient wood floor in the process, and clumsily catches Ginny's sleeve. "Where's 'mione?"

Patting his arm placatingly, Ginny tosses her head in the direction of Hannah's office. Hermione's already on her way over still dressed in her best robes – working late again, ever the workaholic – and wearing a bemused expression. "I take it they solved it, then?"

In a staggering but impressively speedy flurry, Hermione and Ginny manage to get their husbands to their respective homes with promises to catch up when the boys were more _lucid_.

By the time Ginny and Harry arrive in their flat, his wiry arms are banded around her middle as he nuzzles at her neck in a less than suave manner. " _Gin_. Hey _Gin_."

Despite herself, his nearness and warm _searching_ fingers make her breath catch, but she steels herself and tosses her borrowed cloak toward the coat rack and manages to snag it on an empty spoke. _Quidditch skills._

Rapidly, Harry's becoming dead weight and Ginny struggles to tote him toward their bedroom, stripping him out of his clothes and down to his underthings. He loses his balance and drops back onto the mattress with a bounce. "Didn't know y'felt this way Gin."

She comes back in with some headache remedies and pulls Harry toward the loo so he can brush his teeth – rather so _she_ can. He's still looking rabid when he tugs on the hem of her oversized shirt. " _So_."

Ginny hands him a cup full of water and he manages to gargle and spit with a minimal amount of dribbling down his bare chest – which is surprisingly enticing. _Got it bad Weasley_.

Soon enough she's wrangled him under the covers, her lamp dimly lighting her side of the bed as she makes to resume the muggle mystery novel Hermione had lent her. Just as the doorknob jiggles in the darkened room where the heroine hides, Harry throws his arm across Ginny's middle and nuzzles against her thigh, mumbling incoherently.

Rolling her eyes, she runs her fingers through his messy mop and settles the book into her free hand. Harry rubs his nose against her side, pushing her shirt up and exposing the freckled skin beneath. " _Gin_."

"What are you dreaming about silly?" Ginny smirks to herself, but Harry's apparently _not_ asleep. One emerald eye opens and looks at her mischievously. "Y'want to know something?"

With a sigh, Ginny dog ears her book and tosses it toward the end table. "Always."

His hand trips across her stomach, fingers swirling around her belly button rather deftly for one so otherwise inebriated. "You're my – we're _soulmates_."

Ginny almost wants to laugh, given his state, but he manages to say it with such gravity that she bites back her smile and slides down the pillows and lays next to him. "Yeah?"

Harry's hum comes out a low, tired rumble as he shifts closer, brushing his nose across hers. " _Yeah_. But not like – we _picked_ each other."

Unable to help the chuckle this time, Ginny presses her smile to his, letting her hands brush up his spine, deepening the kiss. Regardless of blood alcohol level, her husband never disappoints in the snogging department. She pulls her lips a breath away and grins, "And to think it's all thanks to my killer Quidditch skills and daring deeds."

He's nibbling at her ear when he snorts, "I think you'll find it's thanks to _my_ daring dee- wait are you saying _you_ kissed _me_?"

Letting out a loud laugh, Ginny prods his chest, "You would've waffled around for another month without – "

Her argument is lost to the insistent press of Harry's mouth against hers. In between kisses he murmurs, "How about we call it even _wife_."

Rolling onto her back, Ginny tugs him to hover over her, "I think I need some _convincing_."

Miraculously, in Ginny’s opinion, Harry manages to keep up with a heated snog for almost a quarter of an hour before his body becomes too much dead weight. And as much as she’d _like_ to press on, it’s not in the cards – for a whole _host_ of reasons.

Still, when she gently guides him to rest his head against her shoulder, Harry lets out a pitiful whine and his lips search for hers rather comically, “I _owe_ you, soulmate.”

She laughs again, adjusting his head so it rests just over her heart, and gently brushes her fingers through his hair, “Soulmate or no, you never owe me anything.”

“That s’not what you said when I made you change Victoire’s nappy,” Harry mumbles, drifting off quickly despite his protestations.

Sighing, Ginny presses her lips to his forehead chastely. “Are you ever _not_ a ball of sass.”

“Nah, I think it’s hered-,” he breaks off with a large, jaw-cracking yawn, “heredi-“

“Go to sleep, Mr Auror.”


End file.
